


Solitary

by Laylah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Blood, F/F, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-16
Updated: 2006-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There shouldn’t be footsteps coming down the hall, not at this hour. Probably not, anyway. Martel can’t really tell what time it is, especially not in the solitary cell, where she doesn’t even have other people’s sleep patterns to rely on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solitary

There shouldn’t be footsteps coming down the hall, not at this hour. Probably not, anyway. Martel can’t really tell what time it is, especially not in the solitary cell, where she doesn’t even have other people’s sleep patterns to rely on. She feels strange, awkward in her skin, like the snake from the experiment is crawling around inside her, writhing between muscle and tendon and bone.

“Oh,” someone says from just outside the heavy steel door. She doesn’t recognize the voice, a warm, honeyed alto. “This one is _pretty_.”

“Stopping to play again, Lust?” The second voice is barely deeper, and slippery, wrong in a way Martel can’t explain. It raises the hairs on the back of her neck, makes her want to bare fangs that she doesn’t think she has.

“Why not?” asks the first voice. Lust. “You’ve had your fun with them too, Envy. At least I don’t break them when I’m done.”

“Most of the time,” Envy says. There’s so much nasty delight in his voice that Martel finds herself curling into a tense little ball as she watches the cell door.

“Most of the time,” Lust agrees. The door unlocks with a heavy clang.

“Tch. Pervert,” Envy says. “I’m not waiting around for you, so let yourself out when you’re done playing with it.”

The door swings open. “You sure you don’t want to watch?” Lust asks, standing silhouetted in the doorway. She’s tall, broad-hipped and narrow-waisted, wearing the Amestrian uniform like a whore’s lingerie.

“No.” Envy is shorter, broader through the shoulders, staring at Martel like he hates her more than anyone alive. “You know I hate that. I’d kill you both.”

Lust smiles, flexing gloved hands. “And you call _me_ a pervert. I’m just doing what I’m made for.”

Envy spits, still glaring at Martel. “We all do.” Martel has never felt so vulnerable, so _naked_ , as under that mad, burning stare. “Enjoy your pet. I’ll probably kill it later anyway.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Lust says as she closes the cell door behind her, as Envy’s footsteps recede down the hall. “He’ll forget about you by morning. He doesn’t have the attention span to _really_ hate any more things than he already does.”

“What do you want?” Martel asks. The stone wall is cold against her back.

“Stand up,” Lust orders. “Let me see you, pretty girl.”

Martel shakes her head. Uniform or no, this bitch isn’t military. There’s something terrifyingly lawless about her. “Leave me alone. Get out.”

Lust smiles unpleasantly. “Mmm, I don’t think so. Not until you give me what I came in here for.” She comes closer, looming over Martel, looking down at her with a sort of predatory delight and reaching out one black-gloved hand.

Martel thinks of the cold, impersonal touch of the researchers, of examinations under harsh white lights. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses. The snake is inside her, must be, coiled tight and ready to strike. She has no weapons, but that doesn’t make her _helpless_.

“Hush,” Lust says. Her fingers brush Martel’s face, cool and unnaturally smooth. “You’ll want me before I’m done with you.” She laughs, and the sound makes the hair raise on the back of Martel’s neck. “It’s what I am, after all.”

Martel moves before she’s finished thinking about doing it, striking upward, too fast for Lust to block her. The heel of her hand slams into Lust’s nose with a crunch, driving splinters of bone into the bitch’s brain, and Martel flinches at the sound of it, at the pain in her hand —

And then she realizes that she never came up off the floor to do it, that the snake-strike motion has _extended her arm_ to twice the length it should have been and oh god there’s something _wrong_ with her, the alchemy has made her a monster, and that wounded-dog noise is coming from _her_ as she stares at her own rebelling limb and —

And Lust gets up like something out of a nightmare, alchemy-light crackling around her face as she licks her own blood from her lips and smiles. “Should I have left you to Envy after all?”

Martel pulls back, scrambles away from Lust, and her arm retracts to normal with a weird, hot, twisting sensation — and then before she can make it to the door, her legs unsteady, Lust reaches out and the tips of her fingers _snap_ outward, hissing, to strike the floor hard enough to chip stone. Martel jerks back, staring at the black spear-talons. Lust isn’t wearing gloves after all — she’s just no more normal than Martel is.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Lust growls. “You owe me now.” Talons extend from her other hand, too, splaying out and striking the wall behind Martel’s head. One of them grazes her cheek, stinging, and she feels blood run down her face.

“Stop it,” Martel whispers, but she can tell just looking at Lust’s mad inhuman eyes that it won’t do any good.

Lust smiles and licks her lips, leaning forward, retracting her claws enough that she can run them delicately up the inside of Martel’s leg. “I want to look at you,” she murmurs, pressing just a little harder, so Martel can feel those sharp points against her skin. “Open up for me.”

Martel holds out a few more seconds, until Lust’s claws start to pierce her skin, until the pain becomes too sharp and hot to ignore. Her legs shake as she parts them, and she turns her face to the wall. “I hate you,” she breathes, as Lust’s fingers trail up the inside of her thigh. “You’re disgusting.”

“Ah,” Lust says, leaning over her, licking at her collarbone, biting at the same moment that she pushes her fingers in, “that’s unkind. I take the time to come in here and play with you, because you’re so lovely, and you say things like that to me?” There’s a horrible edge to her voice, a hint of laughter, a shadow of the same viciousness that danced behind Envy’s eyes.

The fingers working in her cunt aren’t clawed right now, but Martel knows they could be, so she bites down on the protest, on the _fury_ that roils bitter on the back of her tongue. It’s a pure physical reflex that makes her start to get wet for this, despite all the obscene suggestions Lust makes — just her body protecting itself from damage as Lust stretches her open wider, makes her take more. She sobs once, softly, when Lust slides down between her legs and licks at her clit, but she manages to stay silent after that, even when she feels Lust’s hand push all the way in and curl into a fist inside her, even when the relentless pressure and the hot suction of Lust’s mouth drag a shuddering, horrible, reluctant orgasm out of her.

“There,” Lust purrs, withdrawing her hand much too abruptly. “I knew you’d like it.” She reaches for the buttons of her uniform trousers. “Now you’ll have to show me just how grateful you are.”

Martel grits her teeth, her hands clenched at her sides, trying to brace herself for the pain that’ll come when she fights this —

And the door slams open with a crash, and she looks up in time to see Envy lower a booted foot. “Aren’t you _done_ yet?” he snarls. He glares at Lust, who’s half-crouched as if she’s ready to spring, teeth bared and claws at the ready. “You’re keeping Father waiting.”

“You just hate to see anyone else have fun,” Lust hisses.

Envy’s smile is nothing like kindness. “What did you say earlier? I’m just doing what I’m made for.”

Lust gets to her feet, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, and smirks down at Martel. “Mm, you’ll just have to owe me, won’t you, lovely? I’ll be back for you, don’t worry.” Envy rolls his eyes as he follows her out of the cell, and the door closes heavily behind them.

Martel curls in on herself, hugging her knees. She feels sick and bruised and sore, and inhuman. In the morning the alchemists will come back to check on her, and for once, she’ll do everything she’s told. Anything, just as long as they take her out of here. As long as they don’t leave her in solitary.


End file.
